


The Paddle

by Josselin



Series: Negotiations [7]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Paddling, Salve, Sibling Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:51:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: Damen was nothing like Auguste, Laurent decided.





	The Paddle

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Mist for helping me to elaborate on some of my descriptions!
> 
> Immediately follows [The Belt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883665).

Laurent managed, somehow, to pull himself up from the settee in Auguste’s room and dress himself again. After he donned his pants, gingerly, and his linen shirt, he decided petulantly that he did not care about his jacket and was just going to walk across the keep to Damen’s chambers in his undershirt. He eyed Auguste rebelliously and turned toward the door. 

Auguste said, “You’re forgetting something.”

Laurent turned back, prepared to argue that his jacket was unnecessary, but Auguste had picked up his sword belt and was holding it out to him. 

This was also unnecessary--Laurent wasn’t actually wearing a weapon. But a shudder went through Laurent, seeing it, and he felt weak in the knees, so he didn’t argue, and took it from Auguste and slowly wrapped it around his waist and buckled it loosely. 

Auguste curled one finger over the top of the belt, between the leather and Laurent’s shirt, and tugged gently to draw Laurent in a step closer. 

Laurent held his breath for a moment, wondering if Auguste was reconsidering his dictate and would undress Laurent and draw him over to the bed. But Auguste simply tugged on his belt again, said, “Good night, Brother,” and then patted him gently a dismissal. 

Laurent turned toward the door but half-stumbled and fell against Auguste for a moment. Auguste steadied him. “Careful,” said Auguste. “If you don’t pay attention you might fall asleep with that barbarian. Or do you like letting him have you all defenseless?”

“Of course I don’t want to sleep in his room,” said Laurent quickly, distracted. He rarely slept anywhere but with Auguste. It was easy enough, in Arles, with the inner door connecting their chambers. But even when they traveled, if he could come up with some pretext, he would go to Auguste late in the evening, and move from Auguste’s bed to a settee or something in the early morning hours so that servants would think they just fell asleep talking or some such when they came to wake the Crown Prince.

Auguste seemed to mellow, at this. He steadied Laurent a minute longer, and then he curled his finger over the top of the belt a second time. “Take this off,” he said.

Laurent obeyed, holding his breath, and when his clothes were off again, Auguste said, “Get in bed,” and Laurent crawled in between the sheets gratefully.

Auguste took a few minutes of his own to prepare for sleep. He undressed himself, since he couldn’t summon a squire with Laurent naked in his bed, and he left his ring on his dressing table and his boots in a messy heap. By the time he crawled into the bed Laurent felt half-asleep, but he dreamily nudged over on the bed to rest his head on Auguste’s chest and get Auguste to rest an arm around his back, and then drifted away completely.

In the morning, Auguste woke Laurent early, and neither of them talked as they redressed themselves and set the bed enough to rights to let the servants in. Laurent lay down gingerly on the settee, and then had no trouble yawning sleepily as though he were just awaking as Auguste’s squires came in. Laurent stood up and left, making his way back to his own room and his own squires. 

“Do not be late to the meeting, Brother,” Auguste called after him.

Laurent was not late. He arrived on time, avoided gloating when Damen rapidly agreed to what he had been suggesting the day prior and that they had agreed upon the night before. Auguste had a dark frown, at this, and suggested they move to the most contentious portion of the treaty, use of the oasis located along the border. 

Damen remained shockingly agreeable, shooting looks at Laurent throughout the discussion like a dog hopefully begging for a treat. Laurent kept his expression even.

They ended the day’s negotiations in the middle of the afternoon, which had left Laurent with ideas of how he wished to spend the evening, but then Auguste announced, “It’s a lovely day, I fancy going for a ride. Damianos, are you a rider?”

Damen agreed that he was, and was easily convinced to go riding with Auguste. 

“Laurent, would you accompany us?” said Auguste. There was a sadistic merriment in his eyes. 

“No,” said Laurent.

“Do you not like riding?” said Damen.

“I do not care to go riding today,” said Laurent, and he excused himself.

Laurent’s rooms had a small window offering a view of the courtyard, so he could watch, and see that Auguste and Damen did not return from their ride until rather later, handing off their reins to grooms and heading in to the keep.

There was no formal meal that evening, and Laurent had already petulantly eaten prior to Auguste’s return, so he lounged as Auguste picked at a tray the servants had brought in. 

“How was your ride?” 

Auguste ate a grape. “Delightful,” he said. “You should have joined us.” Auguste knew all too well why Laurent had not joined them, he was just poking at Laurent’s sore spot.

“What did you speak of?”

“Nothing,” said Auguste.

Laurent gave his brother a skeptical look. 

“The fine weather, the excellent form of the horses, Damen’s experience riding a Patran mare, the advantages of stirrups made in the Kemptian style.”

Laurent sighed. “Negotiations went well today.”

“Yes, your whoring of yourself to the barbarian seems to at least be working.”

Laurent left Auguste to pick at his food, and retreated to his own room. Once there, he found his thoughts on the other side of the keep. He paced his chamber for a time, looked out the window at the empty courtyard, contemplated going back to Auguste’s room to be petulant with his brother, and the finally left his room and crossed the keep to the side where the Akielons were staying. 

Damen was nothing like Auguste, Laurent decided.

Their coloring was opposite; Auguste was fair and Damen was dark. Auguste liked to talk and Damen seemed content with being quiet. His brother was insightful and ruthless and liked hurting Laurent in exactly the ways Laurent liked it--and sometimes, when Auguste was frustrated with him, in ways Laurent did not care for quite as much. 

The Akielon Crown Prince, by contrast, touched him more gently than anyone else ever had, and Laurent shuddered and pressed himself against Damen’s broad chest. 

Everything Auguste had not done, Damen had. When Laurent had been let into his chambers by Damen’s guards, Damen was already in bed and undressed. He sat up sleepily, but greeted Laurent with a warm and genuine smile, as though Laurent were an unexpected gift of great value. 

His voice was deep and golden and warm, saying, “I was just thinking about you.”

Damen ran a hand through Laurent’s hair, and kissed him gently, and then carefully removed Laurent’s linen shirt and set it aside. Damen lowered his hands to Laurent’s belt buckle. Laurent shuddered again, and Damen made an inquisitive noise, but Laurent just leaned in a little bit closer and said nothing. Damen unfastened the buckle and set the belt aside with Laurent’s shirt. He moved his fingers to the laces of Laurent’s pants, but before putting his fingers to work on them, he leaned in to breath warm air on Laurent’s ear. “Are you still wearing it?” His body revealed his interest in this question. Laurent could see Damen’s cock thickening between them. 

Laurent shuddered again, imagining if the plug were still in him. “No.”

Damen laughed lightly in Laurent’s ear, wrapping one arm around Laurent in a loose hug while his other hand fingered the laces of Laurent’s pants. “I liked that.”

Laurent tucked his face in Damen’s shoulder. “I liked it also.”

“I would have never thought of such a game,” said Damen. “You and Auguste are so clever.”

“I like how you are touching me,” said Laurent, appreciating Damen’s gentle hand on his back. 

“You deserve it,” said Damen, and the words reminded Laurent of something Auguste would say, but Damen’s tone was warm with praise. 

Damen had managed to untie the laces to Laurent’s pants one-handed, and then was using his fingers to loosen the ties one by one. Tugging at the laces caused Laurent’s pants to pull slightly across his buttocks and he hissed sensitively.

Damen noticed. “Are you sore?”

“Yes.”

“From the plug, or—”

“My brother had—” Damen’s fingers paused for a moment, listening. “—a message about your gift yesterday.”

Damen made an interested noise. “What kind of message?”

“One he delivered on my skin,” said Laurent. 

“Oh,” Damen sounded both intrigued and disappointed, as though he wished he could have seen the message delivered himself. “With his hand?”

Laurent shook his head against Damen’s shoulder like a sleepy baby.

Damen ran his hand from Laurent’s bare back down over Laurent’s buttocks gently, a barely-there pressure through the fabric of Laurent’s silk pants. “Here?”

“Yes.”

Damen hummed, and the sound conveyed his deep interest. He ran his hand over Laurent’s behind again. “How did he do it?”

“With my belt,” said Laurent. Damen’s arms were dangerously warm and safe. Laurent could get too accustomed to this. 

Damen groaned. “I love these filthy Veretian ideas,” he said. “Can I see?”

Laurent nodded. Damen went down on his knees and unlaced Laurent’s boots, and Laurent liked looking down at the mess of brown curls on the top of his head. Laurent rested a hand on Damen’s shoulder as Damen tugged one boot and then the other off of his feet. Then, Damen helped lower Laurent’s pants to his ankles, and Laurent stepped out of his clothing. 

Without prompting, once he was naked and Damen was still on his knees, Laurent turned around. 

“Oh,” said Damen, drawing the word out reverently. “You are beautiful,” he said, and Laurent shuddered at his words almost as hard as he had earlier at the touch of Damen’s hands on his belt. Damen ran his hands over the skin, even more gently than he had touched Laurent earlier through his pants. 

“Did you like it?” said Damen.

Laurent felt shy, suddenly glad that he was turned away and Damen could not see his face. He nodded.

Damen’s fingers resumed their gentle exploration. “Can I—” said Damen. 

Laurent twisted to look down at him. “Can I apply a salve?” said Damen.

Laurent nodded. Damen produced a small jar from a trunk of his things and assessed the room for a moment. “Come and lie down on the bed,” he invited Laurent, and Laurent crossed the room to Damen’s bed. The bed sheets were pleasantly cool against his skin, except for a patch in the center of the bed that was still faintly warm from Damen’s body. The bed smelled of Damen, and of sex, and Laurent liked both scents. 

Damen took the lid off of the jar, and Laurent could smell the salve, some kind of herbal smell, and then the lotion felt cool as Damen spread it slowly over his skin. 

“Is that all right?” said Damen. 

“Yes.” It reminded Laurent of one of the first times his brother had spanked him, delivering the blows mercilessly and then keeping Laurent bent over his lap while he applied a salve to soothe the skin.

When Damen was finished, he lay down on the bed next to Laurent, and opened his arms as an offering, and Laurent curled into his embrace.

Laurent rested his head on Damen’s chest. 

They had never really been together like this. The first time, in the inn, Laurent had left afterward, before there was time to rest together in the bed. And the second time, earlier that same evening, Laurent had bent over the foot of the bed but never lay down in it. Damen’s embrace was warm and comfortable, and he rubbed his hands soothingly on Laurent’s back. The throbbing in Laurent’s bruised skin and muscles had subsided slightly under the salve. Even the stringent herbal smell of the salve was comforting, somehow. 

The position lasted longer than Laurent would have expected, enjoying the warmth of Damen’s skin and the slow build of his arousal. They weren’t doing anything explicitly sexual--they might have simply been sleeping--and yet Laurent felt his desire growing. The way he was running his hand over Damen’s chest became less absent and more deliberate.

Laurent began to mouth along Damen’s collarbone. Damen shifted underneath him, and one of Damen’s hands drifted from the safe territory of Laurent’s back lower, gently passing over his bruised ass. Damen was again saying things about how sore and sensitive Laurent must be. Laurent did not know if this was leading up to a determination that he would refuse to fuck Laurent, or if it was leading up to a professed desire to fuck Laurent now. In Auguste, it would have been the latter, and Laurent would not have objected, but he had something else on his mind that he had not yet had an opportunity to try with Damen.

He shimmied down the bed, moving his ass out of range of Damen’s hands and positioning his head near to Damen’s growing arousal. “Can I?” 

Damen groaned. “Please.”

Laurent prided himself on his ability to use his mouth. He knew all of the techniques. There had been a time of several months when he had practiced on Auguste every day, mastering the slow build of pleasure, the delicate art of teasing. He knew how to best combine the sensations with the pleasure of looking at him as he did it. And he liked being admired, so he exercised all of his skills on Damen.

Damen liked Laurent’s voice, and when Laurent looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and a strong, steady suction.

Laurent indulged the first two, but applied the third sparingly, drawing it out, bringing Damen close to pleasure and then withdrawing to a gentler touch. He played this game with himself until he was satisfied and Damen was sweating and clutching at the bedclothes, and then he ceased his teasing and allowed Damen to finish in his mouth.

Afterward, Laurent lingered for a few moments, then crawled up the bed. He eyed Damen to see if the man was amenable to kissing, after. He was, tugging Laurent in close to him. 

“I should probably go,” said Laurent, thinking of the late hour and Auguste undoubtedly pacing and wondering about him.

Damen’s expression conveyed disappointment. “Can you stay a bit longer?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Damen shifted on the bed, reaching for something set on a shelf next to it. His abdomen rippled appealingly as he turned back with the item and offered it for Laurent to look at. Laurent swallowed hard. It was a paddle, carved in wood, with a broad panel and a slightly narrower handle. “A message for your brother,” Damen said. 

There were holes in it, to allow for a harder stroke, and the center of it was carved with a pattern. “My emblem,” Damen said proudly.

Laurent looked at it for another long moment. Laurent ran his fingers over the Akielon lion lightly.

Damen waited during Laurent’s patient inspection, and then he said, “Bend over my lap.”

He spoke casually, as though he took for granted that Laurent would obey. Laurent was a prince, and he felt it was inappropriate that anyone take his obedience for granted. He bent for no one, he told himself. What he chose to do with his brother in private was the concern of absolutely no one else, in particular this presumptuous Akielon--and he was already still bruised and sore from how Auguste had struck him the day before.

Laurent crawled over Damen’s lap.

He thought again about how much different Damen was than Auguste. Damen wasn’t annoyed, the way Auguste had been. Damen seemed to find this a marvelous game, brimming with some kind of hard to express joy that Auguste and Laurent were playing with him.

Once Laurent was in position, Damen was taking time to again admire Auguste’s work, massaging Laurent’s skin. Damen was very gentle, and it was still deliciously painful. 

Damen began consulting with Laurent. “I think here,” he said, stroking the unblemished part of one of Laurent’s thighs. “And here,” he ran his fingers along the other thigh in the same place. 

He waited for Laurent to speak, as though he and Laurent were conspiring on this together. Laurent wondered what would happen if he said, “No,” even now, after he had already crawled over Damen’s lap.

“Do you merit two strikes?” Laurent asked, trying to put something arch into his tone.

Damen laughed, and swatted as the sore part of one of Laurent’s cheeks gently, and Laurent clenched reflexively. “I wouldn’t want Auguste to think I didn’t value his gift.” Damen’s hand moved again and began fingering Laurent’s hole, his finger gently circling it with barely any pressure.

Laurent did not think he could pretend to negotiate while bent over Damen’s lap any longer. “Please.” He pressed his face against the white linen sheets and told himself that it was better if he didn’t have to look at Damen. If Damen wasn’t looking at his face.

“One or two?” said Damen, his voice full of amusement.

“Two.”

Damen ran his hand over Laurent’s thigh. “I have to strike hard enough to leave the mark in the right shape.”

Laurent nodded, his face still pressed against the sheet. 

“You mustn’t flinch,” Damen said. “Or the mark might not look right.” Damen was still touching the skin of Laurent’s leg. Laurent could feel gooseflesh on his skin as he anticipated. “What will Auguste think of this?” said Damen, musing. He seemed convinced that Auguste was enjoying this game as much as he was. 

Laurent could not bring himself to think of Auguste’s reaction. “Please,” he said again. Auguste liked it when he said please, it was his instinctive reaction when he was overwhelmed and wanting.

Damen adjusted his grip on the paddle. His other hand stayed on Laurent’s thigh, positioning him. His grip was firm, and it hurt a little where Laurent was already bruised. Damen pressed the paddle gently against Laurent’s leg, devising the best placement.

“Are you ready?” said Damen.

Laurent couldn’t speak. He was too overcome. Don’t make me beg again, he thought. Don’t make me say I’m ready. Don’t--

He heard the impact of the strike before he felt it. For a fraction of a second he heard the noise only and then he felt the impact. At first he only sensed the pressure, an awareness that he had been struck. The muscles of his back were the first to react, and he felt a wave pass over him all the way up to his nape. The real sensation followed. He felt scorched, as though overtaken with fire. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying not to make a noise.

Damen inspected his own work. “That is good,” he pronounced.

Damen moved his hands to Laurent’s other thigh. The touch on his uninjured thigh seemed inconsequential in comparison to the beacon of heat on his other leg. The feeling was rapidly spiralling toward a distilled and clean pain. Laurent kept wondering how it would feel, to double the pain. He wasn’t certain that he could handle it. He knew he couldn’t flinch, but he also wasn’t sure that he could stop himself. Damen was positioning the paddle on his other leg, measuring. Laurent suppressed a sob. His cock was stiffening and the press of it against the bed linen was not even remotely satisfying.

Damen lifted his hands. “Turn around,” he said. “I can have more leverage from the other direction.”

Turn around, Laurent thought. He couldn’t get up; his cheeks were wet. He wasn’t sure when he had tipped over into tears and he couldn’t get his face under control and he didn’t want to raise it from the sheets. Two was definitely not the correct number.

Damen pushed at him a little bit to get him moving, and his skin was sensitive, making Laurent hiss. “For Auguste,” Damen said, and Laurent focused on the ridiculous Akielon pronunciation of his brother's name and sat up, blinking. He moved delicately on the bed, changing position and settling gingerly over Damen’s lap facing the other direction. He felt terribly humiliated, somehow, as though Damen seeing the tears on his face and his arousal were somehow more devastatingly revealing than guessing they were there.

“That’s better,” said Damen.

Laurent didn’t think he could hold still a second time. He flinched sensitively even when Damen touched him just checking the position.

“Shh, hold still.” Damen went on about how he was aligning the marks evenly, but Laurent was beyond listening. 

“Please,” Laurent said. And when he said it a second time, finally Damen took pity on him. The second stroke was the same, where Laurent was aware of it happening a moment before he perceived how much it hurt.

For a moment, Laurent thought that the second blow did not hurt as much as the first. Damen might have been gentler. And then pain of it spread, and he realized that the second hurt much more than the first one.

Damen was speaking again, and his words washed over Laurent. Damen spoke about how good it looked, his mark on Laurent, and what Auguste would think, and how much Damen liked seeing the lion on Laurent’s skin. Laurent had an overwhelming buzzing in his ears, as though he were surrounded by a beehive, and while he tried to pick out one of Damen’s words over another, it was too difficult. He stopped trying to focus, and instead let the sound wash over him and tasted the saltiness of his tears on his lips. 

Damen seemed overcome with how much he liked the lion mark, and he leaned in and traced the same gentle caresses he’d been giving Laurent with his hands with his mouth.

Laurent put his hand in his mouth to keep from crying out. He was overwhelmed with the sensation and bruised feeling in his skin, and then the warmth of Damen’s lips was a tease. Damen repositioned the two of them on the bed, and then leaned in again, moving his lips up along the line of Laurent’s inner thigh toward the crease of his buttocks. Laurent could almost believe that Damen’s destination was--oh, it was.

Laurent couldn’t suppress the noise he made. 

“You are so beautiful,” Damen murmured against his skin.

Laurent was beyond coherence. “Please,” he repeated over and over. The sensations were sharp and poignant. He could feel the brush of Damen’s stubble on his overly sensitized skin, and the firm pressure of Damen’s fingers as he held Laurent open. His thighs felt warm and agonizing even with nothing currently touching them, and Damen seemed to have made the same study of providing pleasure with his mouth that Laurent had been priding himself on earlier. 

Damen took his mouth away to breathe, and replaced it with a finger. “Can you finish, like this? With just the paddle and my mouth, here?”

Laurent shook his head, but if he didn’t finish he wasn’t even certain he cared any longer, all of it was already so good. 

Damen made a considering noise. “I think you could,” he said, but then he rolled Laurent onto his back, shushed Laurent as he whimpered at the pressure on all of his sensitized backside, and leaned in to take Laurent’s hard and dripping cock in his mouth.

Here, Damen had no sense of style or finesse. He was direct and devastating. He slid one of his hands beneath Laurent to continue to tease at Laurent’s hole, and with his mouth he applied a strong and steady suction.

Laurent’s hands flew helplessly to Damen’s head. He hovered his hands gently, his fingertips resting on top of Damen’s curls, and then Damen made an encouraging noise and Laurent threaded his hands into Damen’s hair and clung as he finished. 

His climax was so overwhelming that he felt in a haze for several moments. Damen petted him gently, for a long moment, and then reached for the salve he’d been using earlier and rolled Laurent onto his stomach again and began applying more of it to the new marks on Laurent’s thighs.

“The mark shows so clearly,” said Damen. His voice was warm and proud. “Your skin bruises beautifully.”

Was that the kind of compliment where Laurent was supposed to thank Damen after? He was still in a haze and said nothing.

Damen traced the outline of the red lion welt, his finger moving in a zigzag around the outside of the lion’s mane. “The contrast here is so nice, between the white and the red. How does it feel?”

“It hurts,” said Laurent.

Damen made an agreeable noise. “Do you like it?”

Laurent had his face buried again in the bed linens, so after a moment he confessed, “Yes.”

Damen finished the the salve, and moved up the bed to take Laurent into his arms. He massaged Laurent gently again the way he had when they started. Laurent realized after a moment that Damen was using his finger to trace the outline of a lion’s mane on Laurent’s back, and then Laurent shivered in his arms.

“Do you want to sleep here?” said Damen. “You are welcome to stay.”

Part of Laurent wanted to stay. He was warm and comfortable in Damen’s arms, and Damen was reassuring and kind. But Damen was also new and unknown, and Laurent’s heart pounded a bit too quickly when Damen was around, and something deep within him itched for the comfort of his brother’s bed and Auguste’s scent.

“I should go,” said Laurent. 

“If you prefer,” said Damen. 

Laurent rose slowly and redressed himself. Standing and walking were painful. 

Damen watched him, lazily, and when he was dressed and had his belt on again, Damen crossed the room to where he stood. It felt like an echo of the previous night, when Auguste had made as though to send him away, and then had permitted him to stay. But Damen only kissed him gently, his hands cupping Laurent’s face gently, and then letting him go. 

“Good night,” Damen said.

“Good night.” Laurent returned his greeting and then left the Akielon prince’s chambers.

Laurent stood unsteadily in the hall of the keep for a moment, thinking more seriously about what Auguste’s likely reaction was going to be.

Auguste was not going to share Damen’s pure joy in the messages the two princes were sending back and forth on Laurent’s skin. Laurent in fact rather suspected that Auguste’s reaction to Damen’s message might be to hit him again. Which caused Laurent to think about retreating to his own chambers.

Auguste hadn’t specifically told Laurent to come back and see him, or to spend the night in Auguste’s rooms. But it was so much their custom that it perhaps did not need to be said. Auguste would be displeased if he found out later that Laurent had returned to his own rooms alone. And despite the threat of Auguste’s anger, Laurent wanted to go to Auguste’s rooms. He did not want to be cold in his own bed, alone, and he wanted to feel Auguste’s arms around him as his thighs burned.

When he entered, Auguste’s room was dark. The fire was banked and the candles were out, and the light came from the moon through the window. Auguste was in bed, sleeping. It was a reprieve, Laurent thought. 

Laurent took off his jacket, and then unlaced his pants and tried awkwardly to remove his boots and his pants without sitting down or making any noise that might wake his brother.

His clothes off, Laurent crawled in between the bedcurtains and under Auguste’s blankets. He settled next to his brother on his stomach. Auguste was still sleeping. Laurent realized he could sleep also. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he felt until he relaxed into the feather bedding. He began to drift off.

Auguste rolled over lazily, still half asleep, and tugged Laurent into his embrace. Laurent couldn’t help the pained noise he made at the movement, but he quieted quickly, hoping Auguste didn’t hear.

Auguste’s breathing had changed. “Laurent?”

Laurent contemplated pretending to be asleep.

“Laurent?” Auguste spoke more sharply.

“Brother,” said Laurent.

“What did the Akielon think of my message?” Auguste sounded vaguely smug.

“He expressed his appreciation,” said Laurent. 

Auguste made a satisfied noise. He groped at Laurent’s backside. Laurent flinched and hissed.

Auguste still sounded smug. “And did he give you a bag of coins this time?”

Laurent shook his head against Auguste's chest.

“Hmph,” said Auguste, as though he had proven how ridiculous Laurent has been and that was the end of it. “Did he hit you?” said Auguste. He spoke absently, half asleep again already.

“Yes,” said Laurent. It came out half-choked. 

Auguste sounded far away. “Your silly games,” he said. “I should make you go riding with me tomorrow.” He punctuated his threat with a light swat to Laurent’s backside.

Laurent cried out. 

Laurent was close to confession. He couldn’t sleep with the lazy way Auguste was touching him. 

But he waited, and his brother’s breathing slowed and ecened again. Once Auguste was asleep, Laurent shifted and carefully moved Auguste’s hand to a less sensitive location, and the he relaxed into sleep himself.


End file.
